


The Dark Fairy

by celedan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Maleficent (2014) Fusion, Evil Harry Watson, F/F, F/M, Happily Ever After, M/M, Magic, slight non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 18:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celedan/pseuds/celedan
Summary: When Sherlock the fairy and John the human meet as children, it's the beginning of a True Love. But years later, John's power-hungry sister Harriet almost destroys the love these two have, separating them for sixteen years. Deeply hurt, Sherlock seeks revenge - but on the wrong person.





	The Dark Fairy

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of watching the Maleficent movie too much.  
> Enjoy!

Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms. One was inhabited by humans, and their king was a vain, greedy man. In the other kingdom, called the Moors, there lived every magical creature and spirit you can imagine, and they were protected by the fairies, the most powerful of all magical creatures. They were reigned by their king, Mycroft, and for a long time there was deceptive peace between the two kingdoms. But there came a time when he had to go away for long years. To not leave his lands and people unprotected to the cruelty of men, he entrusted them, reluctantly, to his little brother. Sherlock was only a youngster when Mycroft went away, but his powers already rivalled that of his brother's. He could be an arrogant, snotty little brat when he wanted to be, and his relationship with his brother wasn't always the most harmonious, but he was as clever and brilliant as his brother, and he understood the severe duty of protecting their people. He embraced it with all he had from the day his brother left the Moors. And although Sherlock was the Moors' guardian against human invasion, he'd never seen a human with his own eyes.

Until one day, he met a boy, not much older than him. He was fetched by some frantic residents of the outer Moors one morning; a human had breached the thick protective forest surrounding the Moors and scared everyone to death by his presence. Sherlock was giddy with excitement although he didn't show it outwardly; his first real life human! Now it would turn out if they were really as vicious as everyone said.

But he frowned when he saw the human. “He is just a boy,” he snapped irritably at the frantic creatures who'd send for him. “He isn't dangerous.”

Now it was the human's turn to frown. “I may be small, but I can be very dangerous.”

Sherlock chuckled, and countered the pouting look with a dry raise of one eyebrow. “Of course,” he drawled. “And pray tell, does our highly dangerous visitor have a name?” He scrutinised him from top to bottom. “You're a farmer's child, very poor I'd say. You haven't had anything to eat for a while, and you've slept in a barn, so maybe you're not only poor, but homeless as well, orphan maybe. So, if you tell me your name, I'd be inclined to invite you for breakfast.”

The boy glared at him, but there suddenly was an excited gleam in his eyes. “That was brilliant,” he finally said, and Sherlock blinked in shock. That was a reply he hadn't counted on.

“Excuse me?!”

“You've heard me,” the boy nodded briskly. 

“That's... that's not what people normally say.”

“I'm not people.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said contemplatively. “I see that.”

“And my name is John.”

Sherlock blinked a few more times before he composed himself. He cleared his throat, and raised himself up to his full height so that he looked down onto the smaller boy. “I'm Sherlock.”

John smiled at him unexpectedly. “Pleased to meet you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock was thrown once more by John's friendly manner. To cover his astonishment, he made an inviting gesture in the direction of the Moors' heart.

John nodded in gratitude, and followed Sherlock deeper into the Moors. “By the way,” he told the other boy off-handedly, “I love your wings.”

Sherlock almost stumbled, and definitely did not blush.

 

From this day on, John was a welcome visitor in the Moors. He and Sherlock spend every free minute together, exchanging stories about their respective homes. Over the years, they grew closer and closer, and the day Sherlock turned sixteen, John kissed him in the golden rays of the setting sun. It was True Love's Kiss, Sherlock sensed it with every fibre of his being, and he'd never been happier in his whole life. That night, they consummated their love, and come morning, when Sherlock woke in John's arms, he had to remedy his sentiment of the past evening; he was even happier now.

For a time, even years, they were happy together, even though there was some discontent between them as John's dearest wish became fulfilled, becoming a soldier in the king's army, desperately wanting to serve the kingdom's people, honourable, good man that he was. But then, one day, to John's horror, the king of men prepared for war against the Moors' residents, and so John had to prepare to go to war against the love of his life. But if he didn't, he would be a traitor to his people. The king claimed that he wanted to protect his people for he had heard of the growing powers of the Moors' protector, and he wanted to defeat this force before it could strike him down one day and invade the land. In reality though, he only lusted for the wealth of the fairies' lands, the rich gems lying on the ground of their ponds and the wondrous, lush forests and meadows. So, the people of the Moors went to meet the king and his army, led by an enraged Sherlock.

Sherlock fought like the Devil, and exactly that was the way the king, badly hurt by the furious fairy, saw him. At Death's door, he swore revenge, and promised his daughter's hand and with it his kingdom to the man who brought him the monster's head.

John, who had become a soldier in the king's army, being stationed at the palace, heard of the king's proclamation, and sneaked out of the castle to warn Sherlock. The fairy received his lover into his arms gratefully, relieved that the war between their people hadn't managed to drive a wedge between them, but he scoffed at John's warning confidently.

“Let them come,” he told him. “I'm not afraid. Nobody can get close to me if I don't want them to.” 

John frowned, still worried, but he didn't say anything. He believed in Sherlock's powers.

They couldn't spend the night together for John was worried his absence might be detected, so after a few hours of peaceful solace together, they parted ways again.

Back in the castle, his twin sister Harriet, who was one of princess Clara's chamber maids, awaited him eagerly. “Have you heard!” she demanded to know, looking at him frantically.

“What are you talking about?” John blinked at her in confusion.

She rolled her eyes. “The king's proclamation!”

“Yes,” John answered carefully. “But what of it?”

“Think about it, John,” she urged him to understand. “That's our chance. Finally we can have a better life. Let's kill the monster, and you will become king!”

John reared back in horror. “Harriet!” he cried. “Do you know what you are saying!?”

She flinched remorsefully. “Sorry John. I should have handled that differently. After all, you are the one who will have to kill the monster.”

“You get me wrong,” John contradicted. “I will not kill anybody.”

Harriet stared at him incredulously. “What do you mean, you won't kill the monster!? That's our chance!”

“Harriet...” He trailed off uneasily.

Her eyes widened suddenly in comprehension. “You know the monster!” she cried. She frowned in remembrance. “You were in the Moors as a boy. You told me back then.”

“Yes,” he admitted through gritted teeth. “Sherlock is my friend. And I won't allow anyone to hurt him.”

Harriet scrutinised him thoughtfully for a while. Then she smiled warmly, and hooked her arm through John's. “It's all right, John. Of course you couldn't harm your friend. I'm only sorry that you had to hide this friendship from me for all these years.”

“It was too dangerous for both of us,” he defended himself with a bad consciousness.

“I understand. Come on. Tell me all about your friend.”

 

When the siblings parted in the evening, John with a much lighter consciousness for having confided in his sister, Harriet gathered all of her courage, and dared to venture into a sinister area of the village outside the castle. There she sought out a most dubious witch with the name of Irene. She was shunned by most people, only sought out by the most brave, or most shady of characters. Harriet told Irene of her plan, and asked for her help with the promise of making her royal sorceress if their plan was successful. Irene, as ambitious for power and wealth as Harriet, agreed to help her. She couldn't turn Harriet into her brother for real like she wanted for that was magic so powerful only the fairies could wield it, but she gave her a potion. “If you drink this,” she told her, “it will create the illusion of being your brother. Even a fairy as powerful as Sherlock will be deluded.”

Clutching the phial tightly to her chest, Harriet hurried back into the castle. The next night, she tiptoed into her brother's chambers, and stole some of the Captain's clothes before she downed the potion in the security of her own chambers. When she looked into the mirror afterwards, her brother's features stared back at her. Satisfied, she donned his clothes, sneaked once more from the castle, and made her way to the Moors. Thanks to her brother's tales of his adventures in the Moors, she found the safe path through the dangerous forest. But before she was halfway through it, a huge shadow sailed over her before suddenly appearing before her. She jerked back when she saw the pale young man standing before her, beautiful, enormous black wings unfolding behind his back and vicious looking horns protruding from the dark curls on his head. Ice blue eyes scrutinised her for a moment impassively before a warm expression suddenly seemed to transform them, making them seem warm and welcoming.

“Sherlock,” she stammered, “you startled me.” At least she hoped that this was Sherlock. He had to be.

The creature smiled softly at him. “Nothing new there.” He held out his hand to Harriet. “Come.”

She took his hand, and let herself be led through the forest deep into the fairies' territory. Her eyes became huge when she perceived all the wonders that unfold before her while she followed Sherlock to an idyllic clearing at a small pond, far away from the prying eyes of the other nosy creatures. They sat down side by side, Sherlock immediately snuggling up to her. She had to suppress a shiver at his proximity.

“You shouldn't come here so often,” he told her softly. “People might notice. I don't want to endanger you.”

“You're not,” she protested. “It's just... I had to see you.”

Sherlock drew back, and smiled at her. He delicately brushed the hair from her forehead, then he leant in to kiss her. Harriet froze, but she had to play along.

After the kiss, they lay down in the soft grass, and Sherlock slung his arms around her tightly, drawing her against his body. “I'm so glad,” he whispered suddenly, his warm breath caressing her ear.

“About what?”

“That you still love me although you serve my worst enemy.”

She swallowed heavily. “I'll always love you,” she mumbled in embarrassment.

Sherlock grabbed her shoulder, and turned her on her back before he leant down again to kiss her once more. She closed her eyes, and endured his kiss. She only wanted one person to kiss her and that was the person who would be her reward if her plan succeeded. But if she wanted to claim princess Clara as her own, she had to endure the touch of this hideous creature her own brother called a friend. Worse, his lover.

“I need you,” Sherlock whispered against her lips, and inwardly, she froze. In that moment, she cursed her foolishness and the potion she'd drunk for it only created the illusion of being John. In reality, she was still a woman, the potion only fooled everyone in thinking they were touching a male body. But she couldn't... wouldn't be able to take Sherlock with her female body... That meant. She whimpered in disgust, but hoped that Sherlock interpreted it as a sound of lust. He unfastened her breaches, and pushed them over her hips and off before he drew her legs around his waist. It hurt when he entered her and she bit her lip to stifle a cry, but at least his befuddled senses were led astray to think he was taking a male body. This hadn't been her plan! She'd planned on drugging him with a sleeping potion to safely kill him, but not... this. 

They both shuddered when he found his completion, and she was glad when he pulled his spent member out of her. They lay side by side for a few moments, panting, before Harriet overcame her shock, and reached for her cloak with shaking fingers. She casually pulled a flask from it, and feigned drinking. Then she offered it to Sherlock, who accepted the drink gratefully after their strenuous love-making.

She lay motionless in his arms for a long while to really make sure he had fallen asleep. Only then did she dare to extract herself from his embrace, and she pulled forth a dagger to do what had to be done. But she faltered as she looked down at his peaceful form. For all her talk, she was no soldier, she'd never killed anybody, and suddenly, she didn't want to become a murderer. But then her gaze fell on his wings. She'd heard the soldiers who'd survived the battle talk; the wings were the fairy's most dangerous attribute. If they were gone, he would be no more than a cripple. And she had to bring the king a token that Sherlock was defeated.

Determined, she pressed the blade against one wing's base.

 

Sherlock blinked when he awoke the next morning. He felt horrible. Shouldn't have drunk the wine John had given him. Stupid human concoctions. He groggily tried to sit up when a pain like nothing he had ever felt shot through his body. He cried out involuntarily. It felt like his back was being cleaved in half while slowly being consumed by flames. Sudden panic seized him. He couldn't feel his wings! Dreading what he would see, he looked over his shoulder. There was nothing there. Under great pain, he reached back, but where his wings should be, he brushed only two bloodied stumps. He cried out again, nearing hysterics, tears spilling from his eyes in pain and desperation. He sank back to the ground, and curled up although this didn't make the pain go away. He wanted to die right there when he suddenly realised who was responsible for this villainous deed. He sobbed desperately, it simply couldn't be. But there was no other possibility; John had betrayed him, had violated him, and taken his wings from him in the most cruel way.

But why?! Oh, why...

Sherlock lay there for a long time, the green grass under his body turning red from his blood. The sun began to set already when he felt a spark light inside of him again. The ice-cold numbness inside him diminished a little, and the spark slowly revived him. It was the only thing keeping him alive in that moment; the thirst for revenge.

Every fibre in his body seemed to hurt when he got onto his knees, then he managed to stand on shaky legs, his whole body out of balance without his wings. He called a broken twig to him, and turned it into a long staff on which he could lean.

The first step was so painful he cried out loud, liquid fire shooting along his spine. But he gritted his teeth, and took another. And another.

For a while, he wandered aimlessly through the Moors, ignoring the attempts of the small creatures he encountered who wanted to comfort him, all of them horrified when they saw what had been done to him. He made his way out of the Moors, his tired legs took him to an abandoned citadel not far from the Moors' borders. He wanted to be alone and lick his wounds in peace. If he had to endure the cheer of the other fairies, or worse, their simpering pity, he was sure he would just kill them.

He huddled down in the old ruins, the darkness of night enveloping him as well as his dark thoughts.

What was it his brother always said? “Caring is not an advantage.” Oh, how right he had been for once. And Sherlock had been foolish enough to think otherwise. The spark of rage inside of him burst into a furnace, and he let out an ungodly scream, sickeningly green magic pouring from his body and enveloping everything in its way, being visible for miles.

He calmed down eventually, thinking that he should spare his powers to heal his wounds.

And to inflict them on John tenfold, a dark voice whispered in his head.

 

Sherlock spend the night just sitting there, staring into nothing. Come morning, he left the stronghold again, and wandered around the lands once more. In a field, he came upon a farmer and his angrily barking dog. He'd caught a raven in a net, claiming it destroyed the farmer's harvest. Sherlock watched detachedly, but when the farmer raised a club to kill the bird, he couldn't just stand by. There wouldn't be another pair of wings lost. He waved his hand, and suddenly, the raven grew under the farmer's horrified gaze until it stood before him as a man. The farmer, believing to face a demon, fled terrified, and only then did Sherlock show himself to the bewildered raven who examined his new form.

“Did you do this to me?” the raven asked the fairy indignantly.

“You'd rather he clubbed you to death?” he retorted with a raised eyebrow, which made the raven lower his eyes submissively. 

“Forgive me. I thank you for saving my life.”

“What are you called?”

“Gregory.”

“Hm. I am Sherlock.”

“Let me repay you for my life,” Gregory offered. “I will be your servant for as long as you wish.”

“I don't need a servant,” Sherlock wanted to say, but then he halted. “You can be my wings,” he declared in the end, and allowed the scrutinising look the raven gave him, his gaze lingering on the blood still soaking the back of his garments. 

Gregory nodded. “So be it.”

 

From this day on, Gregory followed Sherlock everywhere. He was his eyes and ears throughout the land and, even if Sherlock would never admit it, some kind of friend. He tried to comfort him after bringing him the news of John's coronation, but Sherlock brushed him aside. Instead, he wallowed in misery for the rest of the day and the following night that the love of his life had betrayed him just to become king.

After his wounds healed, and he felt stronger on his legs, he returned to the Moors, darkness dragging after him everywhere he set foot, and when he reached the Moors' heart, he sat on his brother's throne – a place he'd never wanted to be. The tree-guards stood faithfully beside him, heartbroken that they hadn't prevented what had happened although it wasn't their fault but Sherlock's alone for trusting John in the first place all these years ago. The other creatures cowered before him in fear, none of them daring to question his claim on the throne. But that didn't matter, it wasn't his task to make them feel happy, but to protect them from any harm men could pose to them. Over night, he built a huge wall of deadly thorns around the Moors so that no living soul could enter through them and invade the land.

Sherlock bade his time, plotting his revenge. He didn't want to simply kill John; he could have swept the whole castle away and everyone living in it if that had been his wish, but he did not want a sudden death for John. He wanted to see him suffer for the rest of his life. And he wanted to take the most precious thing that John owned just like John had both taken Sherlock's wings away and his heart, destroying both.

And one day, the perfect chance for taking his revenge presented itself to him when Gregory came to him, and reluctantly told him that the queen had born a little girl, and that there would be a big christening and celebrations all throughout the land.

“So,” Sherlock said, and dismissed the fidgeting raven dispassionately, ignoring the stabbing pain in his icy heart at the news. “How interesting. Then methinks we will go to a celebration.”

 

The festivities for the princess' christening were splendid. From near and far, well-wishers came to the castle to celebrate the birth of the princess. Even three fairies from the Moors came to show their good-will to the new king, bearing magical gifts of beauty and happiness for the little girl. Just when the last of the three wanted to speak her wish, Sherlock made his grand entrance, just like John had always accused him of, being a drama queen. Well, Sherlock would show him what a grand entrance was.

In a blaze of green flashes, he strode through the throne room, Gregory circling around him in big swoops. Sherlock was a terrifying sight, his pale eyes flashing and his sharp horns putting the fear of the Devil in the people gathered there. His long black cloak dragged menacingly behind his form and his staff made ominous clanking noises on the stone floor.

He ascended the dais on which the thrones stood, and looked John directly in the eye, making the new king shiver in terror.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, “What do we have here.” He looked around in a grand gesture. “Royalty, Gentry, and...” His eyes zoomed in on the three fairies surrounding the cradle protectively, three especially obnoxious little creatures he never could stand the sight of. “The rabble.”

Philip spluttered at Sherlock and Sally glared affronted at him while the look in Mary's eyes clearly indicated that she planned his slow demise, but Sherlock's attention had already turned away from the three fairies.

Sherlock mock-bowed before the so called king and his queen. “I'm inconsolable, but I'm afraid my invitation must have been lost.”

“You're not invited,” the king hissed, and Sherlock reared back in mock-horror.

“Not what!?” His lower lip started to tremble before his luscious lips pulled back in a cruel laugh. “Oh well,” he chuckled. “I think I'll stay though.”

“Of course,” queen Clara spoke up eagerly. “Be our guest. I hope you won't hold it against us.”

“Of course not, Your Highness.” He threw John a cruel little smile which made the king blanch. “And to show I don't carry a grudge, I want to give the princess a present as well.”

“Your presents are not welcome here, twisted creature!” Mary cried outraged, and the three fairies crowded closer around the cradle protectively.

Instead of replying, Sherlock swept the annoying little fireflies away with a rush of magic, throwing them hard against the wall. Then he raised his arms dramatically, and cried, “All assembled here, hear me.” He smiled at John once more before turning to the cradle, starting to move his hands in complicated patterns until they started to glow green. “The princess shall indeed be as pure and beautiful as a rose, and everyone shall be touched by her bright and happy nature.”

“That's a beautiful gift,” the queen smiled, but she froze when Sherlock quirked his lips. 

“But,” he said ominously. “Before the sun goes down on the day of her sixteenth birthday, she shall prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, and fall into a death-like sleep from which nothing can awaken her.”

“Please!” the king cried suddenly, stumbling forward. “I beg you, don't do this.”

Sherlock lowered his hands, and a surge of satisfaction run through him. “Oh,” he smiled. “You  _beg_ me? Well, then... do it again. I like you on your knees.”

The king swallowed heavily, and looked around uncertainly, but then he dropped to his knees in his rich robes. “Please,” he begged. “Please have mercy.”

Sherlock regarded him impassively for a few seconds before he nodded. “Very well. The princess  _can_ be roused from her death-like sleep. Through True Love's Kiss.” He threw a mocking glance at John, still on his knees before he shouted, “This is my command, and no power on earth shall remedy this curse now and for all time!”

And with that, the fairy disappeared in a bright green flash, leaving all assembled shell-shocked.

 

The same day, the king ordered all spinning wheels in the whole kingdom garnered at the castle where they should be burned. Sherlock in the meantime had a good laugh at the king for his panicked actions, and he was eager to see with what the people would spin their wool in the next sixteen years. If he was lucky, the kingdom would be ruined financially because they had to import ready-made wool for everyone. He almost had a hysterical fit when Gregory told him of the king's next plan, executed in the same night.

“He sent her away with those three dunderheads!?” he cried gleefully. “That's almost too easy. I don't even need the curse, the inept idiots will let her starve or whatever before she can even walk.”

“You can even watch,” Gregory commented drily.

“Why?”

He snorted. “They settled down with her in a cottage not far from the Moors' borders, disguised as woodcutters.”

Sherlock had trouble breathing for all the giggles that bubbled out of him. “It's astounding!” he cackled. “This much stupidity has to hurt!”

“Yeah, well,” Gregory chuckled sarcastically, “It's not as if the kingdom hasn't other forests far away from the Moors where they could have hidden her, but I suppose, the forest next to the borders is especially lovely.”

Sherlock snorted, now calmed down again. “I didn't expect otherwise from those three cretins, but at least I thought John would have been more level-headed and clever. Obviously, I overestimated him.”

“Maybe he doesn't know where they took her.” Gregory shrugged, and earned himself a nasty glare from Sherlock which left him unfazed, though. 

“Don't you dare defend him,” Sherlock growled.

“I'm not,” the raven retorted with a sniff. “I'm only stating possibilities. But it doesn't matter anyway.”

“No, it doesn't. Now go and make sure she stays in one piece.” He snapped his fingers in irritation so that Gregory once more became a raven.

 

The years flew by. While Sherlock watched over the little princess from afar, who blossomed despite the dilettantish methods of education her three guardians employed, the king's castle became a place of depression, misery, and distrust. Harriet tried everything to breach the wall of thorns around the Moors to kill Sherlock once and for all, but everything she tried failed. With every passing day, she became more aggressive and paranoid, and slowly, she succumbed to madness; side effects of taking the potion hiding her true appearance for so long, but she did not heed Irene's warnings. All she could think about was Sherlock's death, and thus maybe saving Molly. She should have let the little urchin die, but Clara loved the child, so she would do everything to prevent her from falling prey to the curse. On some days, she was so far gone that not even the queen could bring her out of her madness although she loved her dearly. She only cared about her plans over which she brooded day and night to bring Sherlock to fall.

Sherlock himself tried to never waste a thought on John though he almost daily thought of the curse and his revenge. But as the years flew by, his burning yearning for revenge faded slowly and left behind a deep sadness. Every time he saw the vivacious girl, every time she sought him out, never being repelled by his gruff demeanour or his menacing appearance – she seemed as stubborn as her father in that regard and equally as determined to befriend him which send a stab of pain through Sherlock every time he saw how alike John and Molly were –, he was reminded of what he had done to her out of blind revenge against her father. And he felt shame so profound that it hurt. He'd never felt regret or shame for anything he'd done (well, he regretted falling in love with John, obviously) until now. It wasn't a nice feeling.

So, one night he snuck into Molly's room at the woodcutter's cottage, and tried to take back the curse. But no matter how long or hard he tried, he couldn't lift the curse. No power on earth could remedy the curse indeed.

He fled her room, wanting to scream and rage over his own foolishness. Aimlessly and blindly, he roamed the forest until he finally returned to the abandoned fortress in which he had sought shelter back when... on that fateful day he had lost his wings and his faith in True Love.

The rustle of feathers, and insistent, gentle crowing roused Sherlock from his misery, and he tried to shoo Gregory away. But the raven was persistent, landing on his shoulder, and gently starting to groom his black locks with his beak. Irritated, Sherlock turned him into a human, and instantly regretted it when warm, strong arms pulled him into a soothing embrace. But he hadn't the power any more to lash out at his friend.

“We'll find a way,” Gregory murmured, and lovingly carded his fingers through his hair. Eventually, Sherlock gave in, and he sagged into Gregory's arms. It felt so good to be held and petted like this after so long without any loving touches, even if it reminded him of John.

“There is no way,” he mumbled into Gregory's chest. 

“There is True Love's Kiss,” Gregory gently reminded at which Sherlock scoffed.

“There's no such thing as True Love. Why do you think I formulated it like that; The curse can't be broken, ever.”

Gregory frowned, but Sherlock didn't see, and he didn't say anything, just continued to soothe his friend and master's pain.

 

Molly's sixteenth birthday drew nearer and nearer, and with every passing second, Sherlock felt the weight of his sin more profoundly. He dreaded the day to come, but knew that he couldn't do anything against it.

“And if we keep her here?” Gregory asked. “Here in the Moors? There are no spinning wheels here, so the curse can't be fulfilled.”

Sherlock grunted in disagreement. “The curse is too powerful. It will find a way.”

“We can try.”

“Yes, we will, but even I am powerless against the dark magic I've woven. Once voiced, the rules apply to everybody, even to the one who wielded it.”

“What about the three dimwits?”

Sherlock snorted. “I doubt they are strong – or clever – enough to be of any help. I'm astonished somebody at least thought of taking her back to the palace  _after_ her birthday, not the day before.”

Gregory returned his snort. “I never understood why they took her away anyway. She could have grown up in the palace, knowing her parents, and they could have taken her away shortly before her sixteenth birthday, and then burn the spinning wheels instead of putting up such a dramatic fuss.”

“I never expected any hindsight from humans,” Sherlock stated haughtily. “They never see the big picture. But I'm glad they brought her here. This way she always thought she was an orphan, but at least she had a happy childhood. I dread the thought of her spending any time in this dark, madness-infested place they call palace.”

Gregory cocked his head. “Yeah, you're right. She's much happier here.”

Suddenly, before he could reply, Sherlock startled in surprise when he heard shouting and screams and the sound of swords clashing together not far away. Icy fear shot through him though when, between all the male voices shouting, he perceived the sweet, familiar voice of a girl.

“Find her,” he snapped at Gregory who dashed away like a shadow after being turned back into a raven. He hurried after him, once again cursing his slow legs and mourning the loss of his wings yet again. 

When Sherlock reached a spot just before the wall of thorns, he stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw. Molly was backed against the huge branches of the thorn bush with no chance to escape the men who had surrounded her. He breathed more easily for a split second when he spotted Gregory circling before her, cawing angrily, and with a flick of his wrist, he turned the raven back into a man to allow him to comfort Molly before Sherlock allowed his rage to come to the surface once more. He would kill these bastards. How dare they try to lay hand on his Molly! But someone had been faster to come to Molly's aid than Sherlock for it was not Gregory who stood between Molly and these men, fighting bravely and viciously. It was a small blond man. Although he was alone, he easily managed to hold the five men at bay, two of them already lying on the ground, dead or unconscious, Sherlock didn't care. But he could see the man getting weaker, his movements becoming sluggish, and blood was seeping through his tunic at his shoulder. With one swipe of his hand, he swept the assailants away, not caring when they crashed hard against tree trunks, their bones breaking noisily. At this surprising turn of events, Molly's saviour spun around to him in surprise, and now Sherlock could see his face for the first time.

He froze, all the blood in his body turning to ice.

It was John!

For the first time in sixteen years, he stood facing the man he hated most in this world.

John blinked owlishly at him, taking in Sherlock's appearance in astonishment while Sherlock was unable to move for what seemed like an eternity.

But then suddenly, as if a bowstring had snapped inside of him, white-hot rage consumed Sherlock's whole being. His vision blurred by rage, he dashed forward, colliding hard with John who gave a surprised shout. They tumbled to the ground, John taking the brunt of the fall, landing hard on his back. He cried out in pain when his injured shoulder impacted with the stony ground. Sherlock straddled his prone body, pressing him into the ground with his body weight.

“What are you playing at!?” Sherlock screamed, and furiously put his hands around John's throat, squeezing slowly.

“I don't know what you're talking about! I don't know you,” John wheezed, and gasped in pain when Sherlock's weight on him put pressure on the reopened wound in his shoulder.

“Please!” Molly cried tearfully, and rushed to the two struggling men, putting her hand pleadingly on Sherlock's arm. “Please, Fairy Godfather, please don't harm him. He saved me.”

Molly's pleas finally broke through the rage clouding Sherlock's mind, and reluctantly, he stayed from the barely conscious man. He let go of his throat, and John fell back, weakly clutching his bruised throat, and coughing violently.

Disgusted, he stood up, and looked down upon the bleeding man, unsure what he should do with him. He looked at Molly kneeling worriedly at John's side, trying to stem the bleeding with her bare hands, and only then, noticing her torn dress, did Sherlock realise that John had saved her from being violated by those men. Sherlock himself would have come too late to her aid. And deadly feud or not, she was John's daughter, and he obviously felt something for her. Sherlock frowned. Something wasn't right here, though. Why did John claim not to know Sherlock? Why was he here in the first place? Was this some sham? A trap? What was John playing at?! Was he here for Molly!?

He started to pace behind them, trying to think, but the tempest inside his head wouldn't calm.

It came to an abrupt stop though when Sherlock's gaze suddenly fell on Molly's partly bared back.

He was thunderstruck. There on her back, where her human shoulder blades should be, were two long vertical scars, barely visible so they were very old, and obviously healed by magic as well.

Wings...

These scars stemmed from wings being removed from Molly's body.

But this meant...

No, this couldn't be!

But it was the only logical explanation; Molly was his daughter! She was part fairy. If that was true though, she couldn't be John's daughter as well unless there was something John hadn't told him all these years ago. Or was it a spell that had allowed him to conceive? But to which purpose?

There were so many questions raging through his head like a storm, threatening to drive him mad.

All these life-altering thoughts occupied his mind for only a split second although it seemed like an eternity to Sherlock. Because suddenly, Molly looked up at him again. “Can you heal him? Please.”

Sherlock didn't want to, but he couldn't resist her pleading. He didn't want her to be reduced to begging, unlike her father whose begging had been music to his ears back then. Reluctantly, he nodded, shoving the revelations of the past few minutes to the farthest corner of his mind to concentrate on the here and now. He raised the by now unconscious man into the air to take him with him. “Go home, Molly,” he told her. “I will take care of him.”

She stood, and smiled at him in gratitude, and with a last look at John, she obeyed Sherlock's wishes, and slipped through the trees in the direction of her home. He looked after her until she'd disappeared between the trees, then, without daring to look at John's floating figure, he turned, and walked brusquely back into the Moors. Gregory circled around his head on the way back, cawing worriedly. “Fly to the castle,” Sherlock snapped at the bird. “Watch for the king.”

Reluctantly, Gregory left his master's side to do his bidding.

In the meanwhile, Sherlock brought John, against his better judgement, into the tree he called his home. There he made him a bed from leafs and fragrant grass, even spreading his cloak over him for warmth although he didn't know why he did such a thing.

He felt numb when he knelt beside John, and carefully pulled the bloodied shirt from his body. Involuntarily, he hissed at seeing the nasty wound marring John's skin, an older wound obviously which had reopened during the struggle.

“No,” he pressed through gritted teeth. “He deserves this.” But deep down inside he knew that it wasn't true for there was something fundamentally wrong here, even though he didn't know what it was yet. 

Determined, he cleaned the wound carefully with a soft cloth, but before he could redress it with a paste made from healing herbs, he reconsidered. Putting the dressing material away, Sherlock lay his hands over the seeping wound and concentrated all of his powers on it. He watched as the ragged flesh slowly started knitting together until finally just a silvery, ugly scar remained. That was all he could do for John. He couldn't heal him completely, for that, the wound was too old already, had begun to heal, and started to become part of John's body.

Satisfied with his work, he pulled his cloak higher over John, and then sat back to watch over him for the night.

 

Not long after, Gregory returned, and Sherlock left the tree to meet him so as not to wake John.

“And?” he snapped impatiently after he'd turned the raven back to human.

“King John is in the castle,” Gregory confirmed. “I've seen him with my own eyes.”

“Then who...” Sherlock looked up at his tree where the other John slept.

“They can't both be John.”

“No...” Sherlock trailed off, and buried his fingers deeply into his hair, tearing at it so the pain may ground him. “Did you see the scars?” Sherlock then asked desperately.

“Yes,” Gregory slowly answered. “They're just like yours.”

“She had wings. That can only mean...”

“Yes.”

“But how?!” Sherlock cried frantically. “How can she be my daughter?! And if she's my daughter, she can't be John's. What the Hell is going on here!?”

“What will you do now?”

“I need answers, but I can only get them when he's awake.”

Gregory snorted. “You've never been good at waiting.”

“I'm waiting now for sixteen years for my revenge, what's one more night.”

Gregory looked at him knowingly, and Sherlock averted his eyes for the first time in all the years they'd known each other. He strode away without another word, preparing for the longest night of his life.

 

Harry woke from a surprisingly restful sleep, and he was in surprisingly little pain. A little dazed, he sat up, and looked around in amazement. He was in a huge tree, lying in a bed of leafs and grass on one of the huge plateau-like forks of the branches. He spotted a figure huddled a little distance away, watching him calmly.

“Hello,” he said in greeting, and he startled when the impossibly old, ice-blue eyes of this magnificent creature zoned in on him.

“Hello,” the fairy responded cautiously.

“I remember you.” He frowned in contemplation, and the fairy startled up hopefully, but he slumped defeated when John continued, “From the clearing.” He rubbed his brow, thinking intently. “Where's the girl? Is she all right?”

“Yes, she... she is unharmed... thanks to you.” The fairy ducked his head demurely. “You have my gratitude.”

Harry blinked confused. “'S quite all right. Ev'rybody would have done that.”

“No,” the other man spat, “They wouldn't have.”

Harry contemplated the fascinating creature in front of him for a moment before he straightened determined. “I'm Harry, by the way.”

The fairy flinched. “Sherlock.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock made a pained noise, but didn't say anything.

An uneasy silence settled over them before Sherlock broke it again, “Are you feeling better? Any pain?”

Bewildered, Harry looked down at his naked shoulder. Instead of the angry red wound he'd spotted there only recently, there now was an ugly star-shaped scar. “Wha...” he exclaimed, and carefully touched the injury. He looked up at Sherlock in amazement.

The fairy shrugged. “I healed you.”

“Oh... then, thank you.”

Sherlock nodded brusquely, embarrassed at being thanked – it was such an unfamiliar feeling. “Where did you get hurt?”

“I was at war,” Harry replied. “It's not the first time I was wounded, but this time it was so severe, they had to send me back. I got a fever and almost died.”

Sherlock flinched once more with a pained grimace, but only nodded mutely in understanding. “How long were you away?”

“Hm, almost fifteen years,” Harry replied, and Sherlock gasped in shock; he suddenly felt faint. “They send me here and there so often that I didn't see the meaning of it all at one point any more, but I had to keep going, obeying my orders. I'm not a traitor.”

“No,” Sherlock said slowly. “I'm beginning to see that.” 

Harry looked at him questioningly, but Sherlock shook his head, his throat closed up with a heavy emotional lump, preventing him from uttering a word.

Harry nodded as well, smiling bitterly. “I don't know what I should do now. Being a soldier is all I know, but I'll never be able to fight again.”

Sherlock snorted. “After what I've seen yesterday, I highly doubt that.”

Sheepishly, Harry averted his eyes. “Well, yeah, maybe. But you saw what happened.”

“Your wound hadn't healed completely. But now...”

“Why did you do it?” Harry asked suddenly, looking Sherlock straight in the eye. “Only yesterday it looked as if you'd rather kill me.” Harry rubbed his throat, and chuckled sarcastically. “And felt like it.”

“That can wait,” Sherlock answered flustered. “First, I need some answers.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't give you any. I don't know who you are, although...”

“Yes?” Sherlock perked up eagerly.

“I get the feeling that I _should_ know you. You clearly know who I am, so... do we? Know each other?”

Sherlock took a shaky breath. “Yes, I believe we do. But to be sure, you have to tell me more. Why did you go away to war?”

Harry shrugged. “I'm a soldier. The king send me to war, so I went.”

“That's it?” Sherlock frowned.

“Yes... but... there's something else, but I can't remember.”

“Listen, J- _Harry_ , I think you're under a charm.”

“A charm?!” Harry's eyes widened in alarm. “Why?”

“To make you forget.”

“But... I'm a nobody. Why should someone go to all the trouble, and use magic on me to make me forget something!?”

“I don't know yet, but I think I can break the charm.”

“That's... that's good. How?”

“Let me see into your mind. Maybe I can uncover the veil shrouding your memories. I need to know more of the circumstances of how this came to be.”

Harry gulped.

“Please, trust me,” Sherlock asked beseechingly, and crept closer to him, his breathtaking eyes fixed solely on Harry.

“I trust you,” the other man whispered, spellbound by Sherlock's intense gaze which seemed to look right down into his soul. “I don't know why, I just do.”

Sherlock smiled at him for the first time at hearing this. He gently put his hands on Harry's temples. “Just relax. Don't fight my presence.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, and concentrated on the old magic. Then he opened them again, and looked deeply into Harry's eyes. Through them, his spirit delved into Harry's memories. He found them quickly, the buried memories, clearing away the last shreds of doubt he'd had that this man before him was his John. The memories were shrouded by a thick fog, but Sherlock managed to slip through. He bypassed their first meeting as well as all the happy years they'd had together, although he desperately wanted to experience them again. Then he came upon a conversation with John and his sister of whom Sherlock had known, but she never had been of any importance to him because the twins weren't close. Sherlock felt pride and warmth swell inside of him when he witnessed the unshakeable faithfulness John showed him when he took Sherlock's side against his own sister. But at the same time, he got an uneasy feeling when John confided in her about their secret relationship because he saw the greedy gleam in Harriet's eyes through all her caring smiles. Then the scene changed. John woke up in the dungeons, confused about how he came to be here. A little while later, the door opened, and in strode... John himself, dressed in the king's garbs.

“What?!” he cried shocked, but the king just smiled at him secretively. 

“Hello little brother,” he finally said, and John blanched.

“Harriet!?”

The king nodded.

“What have you done!?”

“Taken what is mine. Clara is mine now, as well as the kingdom. I deserve a better life, John.”

“By deceit?!” he spat.

“It's not,” Harriet answered. “I fulfilled the king's wish for revenge, and he legally made me king... well, you, but let's not be petty.”

“Fulfilled the...” John felt all the blood in his body freezing. “What have you done to Sherlock!” he screamed, rushing at his sister in a rage, but the chains held him back.

“He's still alive if that is what you want to know,” Harriet defended herself indignantly. 

“Then how did you convince the king that you avenged him?”

Harriet chuckled. “The brave and faithful Captain John dared to venture into the Moors, drugged the beast, and cut off its vicious wings.”

“You did what!” In that moment, John did want nothing more than to put his hands around his sister's neck and squeeze tight. 

Harriet sniffed. “I wanted to leave the crown to you, I would have been content to spend my life as the king's sister, but then I realised that you would never do what had to be done.”

“I am content with the life I lead. I don't want to be king.”

“But _I_ want to be more than a simple chamber maid,” Harriet spat. 

“But it's an honourable life. We've come such a long way together, Harriet. We aren't the homeless orphans we've been as children any more.”

“Yes, and I simply decided to go further. Otherwise, I'd never have gotten Clara as my wife.” 

John trembled in rage. “Did you deceive her, too? With this vile magic you're working?”

“She thinks I'm you, yes. And with time, she will learn to love me. It's not ideal; I would have wished to win her affections as Harriet, but that's not possible. Harriet is gone now; she has left the castle rather rashly to marry a man from far away lands whom she fell madly in love with.”

“And what about me? Am I to rot down here?”

“I'm afraid so, yes, John,” Harriet sighed, and he almost believed her regret. 

“Somebody will notice if there's a prisoner who looks like the king.”

“Oh, don't be silly. Thanks to the same potion I am using, they all think you're somebody else. Just a thief sentenced to spend his life down here for his sins.”

“The potion won't last forever.”

“Don't worry. Unless you want to starve, you will eat what you will be given.” 

“What has become of you, Harriet,” John cried desperately. “I don't recognise you any more.”

“Poverty did this,” she spat back. “And don't presume to know me. Only because we shared the same womb doesn't mean we have to be close to each other.”

“No.” He sank back down against the cold wall of his cell in defeat. “You're right.”

“So, this is goodbye, John.”

And with that, Harriet turned, and strode from the cell.

Sherlock felt rage and desperation well up inside of him that revelled John's, but he could only watch helplessly for this had happened a long time ago after all.

The memory faded, only to be replaced by another. John was still in the dungeon, but it had to have passed some time judging by his dirty appearance and the long beard and hair he was sporting. Then one day, Harriet came to him once more.

“Thought it was goodbye the last time,” John chuckled humourlessly, his voice rough from disuse.

Harriet bristled, but answered coldly, “I've had time to think. All the kingdom is celebrating a most joyous occasion, and I've come to realise that I can't keep you here forever. It wouldn't be merciful. You are my brother after all. Therefore, I will let you go.”

“But?” John asked suspicious.

“But of course you can't be John any more. For all who ask, you will be my distant cousin, Harry, coming to visit, but unfortunately you can't stay, you have to go to war for your king.”

“The Hell I will.”

She pulled forth a little phial. “Oh, I think you will. After you've drunk this, you'll be as meek as a lamb. And you won't remember the beast or any that has happened concerning him. Or being John for that matter.”

“No!” he screamed panicked, for the first time in almost a year rebelling against his fate. He rattled at his chains, but he was so weak, he couldn't even stand up on his own. 

Suddenly, there was a dark-haired woman at Harriet's side. John recognised her. It was the notorious witch living in the seedier sides of the village, but now she wore fine clothing and jewels.

“So it's her that has given you these vile potions,” he spat at the two women, but they ignored him. Instead, Irene began to chant under her breath, and suddenly, he couldn't move any more. Harriet stepped up to him, and uncorked the phial.

Sherlock escaped from John's memories, and he stumbled back physically as well, breathing heavily. He'd seen enough, and he couldn't stand this any more.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered horrified, tears streaming down his face at the realisation that not only had he cursed his own daughter, but he'd condemned the love of his life to sixteen years of pain, hating him all this time unjustly. And then there was the rage and shame that a second class human witch had managed to mislead him. He hadn't even been suspicious for one second and seen through the charm. Maybe then he could have saved John, could have saved Molly. He wasn't worthy of this brave, gentle, astonishing man's love.

“What did you see?” John asked in alarm, and Sherlock's heart broke some more when he realised John still couldn't remember. He still thought he was a mere soldier named Harry. 

“I,” he stammered shell-shocked. 

“Were you right? Am I cursed? And do we indeed know each other?”

Sherlock nodded slowly.

“Puh,” John sighed a little overwhelmed. “That's a lot to stomach. I never would have thought that I'm important enough to be cursed.”

“You have no idea how important you are,” Sherlock whispered.

John turned eager eyes to him. “So, can you help me? Can you break this charm?”

Sherlock wanted to cry at the naked trust in John's eyes he put in a stranger. It would hurt all the more if he couldn't break this damn charm. He nodded shakily, new determination giving him strength. “I will do everything in my powers to free you of the charm,” he promised ardently, and settled down before John again. Gently, he put his hands back on John's temples and concentrated. He sought for the curse, sought for the dark magic coursing through John, and when he found it, his heart sank for a moment. The charm had manifested inside John for fifteen years, it was interwoven with every fibre of his being. It would be impossible to rip it from him without doing severe damage. He resolutely fought the tears back that threatened to overwhelm him, and instead tried to approach the problem from a completely different angle. But every idea he had, he discarded again, and when he actually tried to carefully unbury the tendrils of the charm, John cried out in pain.

“I'm sorry,” Sherlock cooed, caressing John's cheeks frantically, and he felt tears spill from his eyes in desperation, “I'm so sorry.”

“Please,” John whimpered, Sherlock's ministration having trod loose the charm's defences against being broken, hurting John in the process. “Hurts... make it stop...”

“I can't,” he cried. He fearfully pulled his magic back, and instead took John into his arms, rocking the hurting man soothingly. A few seconds later, he pulled back again, and looked at John through teary eyes. “I'm so sorry,” he whimpered sorrowfully. “I love you, John.” And with that, he leant forward, and kissed John desperately.

It was as if their whole beings were suddenly infused with warm, gentle light. Under its power, the veil enshrouding John's memories melted like butter in the sun, letting him think clearly for the first time in fifteen years.

They parted with a gasp, the caring magic still flowing between them, making their bodies glow in a gentle golden hue. John stared wide-eyed at Sherlock when all the memories that had been kept hidden from him assaulted him all at once. “Sherlock,” he breathed overwhelmed.

“John?” Sherlock asked fearfully, yet hope had infused his voice, making it rise a hitch.

John smiled at him, his gentle, loving smile which was like the sun to Sherlock, and the fairy sobbed in relief. Enthusiastically, he pulled John into another passionate kiss.

After long minutes, they parted from each other, but not very far, their lips still almost touching, sharing their panting breaths. But suddenly, John stiffened. He reared back from Sherlock, and stared at him with big eyes. “My sister,” he stammered deeply shocked. “She...”

Sherlock nodded severely. “I know. I'm so sorry.”

John stared unseeing, his body trembling with building rage. Then he looked at Sherlock again, running his hands through his hair helplessly. “And she hurt you, oh my...”

“And that's not all, John.” Sherlock cringed at the prospect of having to confess that he had slept with John's sister and that she had obviously born his child, deceiving him with the same potion she used to deceive the whole kingdom to this day.

John narrowed his eyes. “What has she done!” he demanded, and the force in his voice made Sherlock flinch. “Oh, beautiful,” he crooned, immediately reigning in his temper, and pulling Sherlock into his arms, making soothing noises while petting his hair affectionately.

With great, heaving sobs, Sherlock confessed his infidelity to John, and told him about Molly. And with that, he had to tell him that he had cursed his own child irrevocably.

“Oh John,” Sherlock sobbed, burying himself deeper into John's arms. “All the things I've done just to hurt you.”

Solely on instinct, John continued making soothing noises while he had to process everything Sherlock had told him; his own sister had forced herself on Sherlock to carry out her sick plan, had brutally cut off his wings, and made him believe for sixteen years that it was John who had done all this. To say nothing of the horrible things she'd done to her own brother and... her own daughter, cutting off her wings as well, and allowing for Sherlock to curse the baby in revenge, only to protect her secret in her greed... Molly... He was an uncle, he marvelled. And it was Sherlock's child, so that probably even made her his daughter as well in a fashion.

“I'm sorry, John,” Sherlock mumbled against John's neck. John drew back, and studied Sherlock's tear-streaked face. He'd never heard the fairy apologising so much. He'd never heard him say sorry, period. The last sixteen years really had to have been hard on him. After all, he'd seen the cold, dead eyes of his lover only yesterday. Now they were warm again and full of love, even if they were streaked with deep sorrow. 

“Listen, Sherlock.” He grabbed Sherlock's shoulders tightly so he had the fairy's full attention. “We will fix this. Now that we're together again, nothing can stop us.”

“But,” Sherlock hiccuped, “the curse.”

John closed his eyes when he thought of that, and Sherlock could detect the shock John felt at his actions, probably even his disappointment. But then he opened his eyes again, and once more looked deeply into Sherlock's own. “Yes, it was wrong to punish a child for the sins of her, well, mother, but I don't hold that against you, you hear me. I promise that we will find a way to fix this.”

Sherlock was unconvinced for just a split second, but the determined gleam in John's eyes gave him new hope. That, and the fact that now, he believed in True Love again. Initially, he'd formulated the curse like that because he had lost faith in such a thing as True Love. But not any more. Now he felt love again, and if even a horrible creature like himself could find True Love – though he didn't deserve it –, then a wonderful person like Molly would find it all the more. Yes, he fully believed that she could be saved after all. John, wonderful John, his conductor of light, had shown him the right way once more, had brought him out of the darkness back into the light.

A sob tore from him unwillingly, and to stifle it, he kissed John once more. He never wanted to stop kissing him. John returned the kiss ardently, his hands lovingly caressing Sherlock's neck and then his shoulders. 

“Let me see you,” John begged against Sherlock's lips, and the fairy nodded.

Sherlock trembled violently when John shoved his tunic gently over his shoulders. Then John drew him into his arms once more with a loving smile, and kissed him again. Their passions ignited all at once with a vengeance after lying dormant for so long, their hands started to roam frantically over each other's bodies while they battled for dominance in their kiss. Suddenly, Sherlock flinched when John's fingers grazed over the hideous scars of his lost wings. John pulled back, and looked sorrowfully at the miserable fairy before him. He gently started to turn Sherlock around.

“No,” he protested, deeply ashamed, but John shushed him with his fingers carding lovingly through his black locks. “Shh, let me,” he crooned, and Sherlock nodded shakily, suppressing a stifled sob. Suddenly overly aware of his half-naked state, he crossed his arms before his naked chest while he let John look at his mangled body.

John drew in a sharp gasp when he saw the crippled stumps of Sherlock's once proud wings. To see them was even more terrible than only being told of what had happened. He felt tears gathering in his eyes, and he let them flow freely. Reverently, he touched the stumps with love; the last time someone had touched them was with greed and hate, someone from John's own blood, he recalled bitterly.

“If I would have been raped, it couldn't have been worse than taking my wings from me by force,” Sherlock spat, a lump in his throat making speaking difficult. “I felt so dirty, so... violated.” He looked sorrowfully over his shoulder at John. “Made even worse by the fact that I thought it was the love of my life who did this to me.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” John sighed, his heart breaking even more, and he drew the fairy into his arms, pressing his chest tightly against Sherlock's broken back. Sherlock wanted to move away in shame, he didn't want John to touch his crippled extremities, but John wouldn't let him go. 

“You're cold,” John mumbled into Sherlock's neck.

“I'm always cold,” the fairy replied barely audible, “Because my heart had turned to ice that day.”

“Then let me warm you.”

“Oh, John. You've always been the sun in my life. My heart has already started to thaw because of your love, I can feel it.”

And suddenly, the dark mood was broken, their arousals surging anew. Sherlock turned in John's embrace to claim his mouth once more, and John moaned into the kiss at Sherlock's passion. He drew the taller creature flush against him, moaning louder when their bare upper bodies pressed together. They sank back into the bedding of  leaves , John covering Sherlock with his body like a comforting blanket, and continued to kiss and caress each other for long minutes.

“Do you have...” But before John could finish his sentence, Sherlock urgently pressed a vial of sweet-smelling oil into his hand.

“I need you, John,” the fairy whispered brokenly. “So badly.”

John nodded, and without further ado divested himself of the last of his clothes. Sherlock did the same, and when they were both naked, they took a moment to simply look intensely at each other. Sherlock was as beautiful to John as he had been on the day he had seen him last, his marvellous body unchanged from time whereas his own was marred by scars and age. But he wouldn't hide from Sherlock's all-seeing gaze, he bore his scrutinising stare; instead of being ashamed of his broken body, he was proud that it had endured all the hardship of the last sixteen years so that he now could be in Sherlock's arms again where he was whole once more.

“You're so beautiful, my love,” he rasped, and couldn't take his eyes from Sherlock's slender body and white, soft skin. The fairy blushed at his words as he had always done when showered with John's compliments. John chuckled affectionately, but couldn't help himself, he had to reach out and touch Sherlock again. 

Never taking his eyes from John's, Sherlock lay back down, and invitingly spread his thighs. He reached out a hand, and beckoned John to him who, spell-bound, followed this bewitching creature down. He crawled between Sherlock's thighs, and caressed the creamy skin of their insides, completely ignoring Sherlock's rapidly hardening member for the time being. Nonetheless, Sherlock shuddered so violently as if John had touched his cock instead of just his thighs, so starved was he for John's loving touches.

Still stroking the skin of Sherlock's thigh with one hand, John uncorked the vial with the other, the spicy fragrance of herbs assaulting his nose immediately. Coating his fingers with the sweet-smelling, slick substance, he brought them down between the fairy's smooth, firm cheeks, and started to prepare him for their union.

“John,” Sherlock whined after a while impatiently, and knocked John's hand away like a cranky cat. 

John had to chuckle at this beloved, long-missed image, and decided to indulge his love (to be truthful, he too couldn't wait himself to be one with Sherlock again).

Sherlock brought his arms around John's neck to draw him close against his body when the human entered him oh so carefully. They both sighed in relief and happiness, and for a moment, they stayed as they were, simply revelling in each other, their gazes locked firmly.

Then, John drew back slowly, and pushed in again firmly, the sensation robbing Sherlock of all breath. He set a slow, firm rhythm, burying himself deeply within Sherlock's body with every thrust, making them both moan and pant loudly which they sought to stifle in each other's mouths.  
“Harder, please, John,” Sherlock begged breathlessly, and wrapped his long legs around John's waist to force his stone-hard member deeper into his constricting channel. His human gasped at the sensation, and bent down to kiss Sherlock with passion and longing.

With all those sensual attacks battering them, they couldn't last long. With a last shuddering thrust, John plunged one last time into Sherlock's trembling body before they both tumbled over the edge with a hoarse cry, finding completion and true peace for the first time in all those long years. His own breath coming in erratic bursts as well, Sherlock wrapped his shaking arms around John's heaving body, and they laid there with their bodies entangled with each other for what seemed like a blissful lifetime.

 

“Apart from the curse,” Sherlock eventually began hesitantly, burrowing deeper into John's arms, “what about Harriet?” He slightly lifted his head to look at John determinedly. “I regret the way I wanted to take revenge, hurting Molly in the process, but it doesn't change the fact that I still want revenge.”

John returned his gaze for a moment before he averted his eyes, sighing heavily. “I know. And to be honest...” He frowned, and Sherlock could detect the fury simmering quietly but steadily in John's blood. “Although she is my sister, I can't forget what she did to you, to Molly, and to me. She poisons this land, so we have to stop her for ev'ryone's sake.”

Sherlock slumped back into John's arms, relieved that he wouldn't have to fight with John regarding his sister.

“But no matter what she's done, I can't allow you to kill her...”

Sherlock sighed, but his chest was swelling with pride nonetheless. His John was the most good-hearted, gentlest person on this world despite his fierce nature that he sometimes showed. It was humbling, really.

“I promise you that I won't kill her, but...” He trailed off, but John understood him regardless. He made a consenting if pained noise.

“I understand. If it... If it comes to... a situation in which you don't have a choice...”

“Please don't believe that I would enjoy her death,” he hastily reassured John although that wasn't completely true. He didn't care about Harriet, and would rather see her dead sooner than later. But he couldn't tell John that.

“I know that. You're better than that.”

A lump formed in Sherlock's throat, making it hard to breathe let alone enable him to utter a word. The utter faith John had in even a twisted creature like Sherlock was incredible. John was too good for this world. But this, additionally to John simply being so... John, was why Sherlock loved him so much. And to be honest, he craved not only John's love but his approval of him as well, his praise and admiration.

“And you have to tell Molly,” John continued, making Sherlock cringe. 

“I know,” he sighed, hiding his face in John's good shoulder. 

“Sherlock, you are her father. She grew up believing she was an orphan. To learn that the one who protected her her whole life is actually her father will make her so happy. And she gets an uncle as well. We'll be a family.”

“I hate to burst your bubble of domestic bliss, but don't forget that I am also the one who cast on her an unforgivable curse. She won't be so happy any more when she learns of this little fact.”

John's face fell in dread. “You're right,” he had to admit in a small voice, but in the next second finding his optimism again, “but when you just explain it to her carefully and in the right way, then she will understand. I'm sure she will forgive you.”

“No, John. She is a sweet, pure-hearted girl much like her uncle, but this is something you don't forgive so easily. Admit it, even you haven't forgiven me completely for doing this to her.”

John cringed, and made a small noise of distress. He didn't reply because he couldn't deny Sherlock's words.

“She will never forgive me,” Sherlock continued in a small voice, “but if that is the price I have to pay to make it right again, then I am prepared to do so.”

John's heart ached at hearing the despair in Sherlock's voice, and he drew the fairy tighter against him. “All will be well, my love. I know it will.”

Sherlock snorted at John's stubborn hopefulness, but hadn't the heart to contradict him again. Instead he laid back in John's arms contentedly, happy for the moment to just be with John. Tomorrow would come early enough.

 

With a heavy heart full of trepidation, Sherlock left John's sleeping form with the first rays of dawn to seek out Molly who had the habit of roaming the forest in the early hours of dawn, loving to watch the sun rise, its beams breaking through the heavy fog between the trees, and bathing everything in a golden carpet of light.

She was here this morning as well, near the borders of the Moors, but her carefree attitude was subdued, and she flinched when she heard Sherlock come near her.

She took a relieved breath when she realised who it was that was seeking her out. “Oh, it's you, Fairy Godfather. I thought...” She faltered, and wouldn't meet Sherlock's eyes.

“I wanted to make sure you are all right,” he softly said, and looked her carefully over.

She shrugged, but nodded. “I think so.”

“That's... that's good.” By the Gods. He'd never been good at consoling people. He should have taken John with him!

“What about the man who saved me?” she asked timidly. “He seemed gravely hurt.”

“He is all right,” Sherlock reassured her.

“Who is he? You were so mad at him.”

“He...” Sherlock evaded her questioning gaze. “He is someone from my past.” He sighed heavily, and decided to confide in her – partly. “I realised that I have done him wrong.”

She smiled at him happily. “So, you made peace with each other?”

“We did,” Sherlock admitted although those two small words could never express all of what had happened, all of what had changed their lives in a split-second, and it couldn't express the profound joy he was feeling.

Her smile grew brighter, radiant. “That's good. You need more friends. You deserve them.”

Sherlock didn't share her opinion, but for now, he wanted to let matters rest.

Suddenly, Molly looked at him with determination shining in her eyes, the gentle happiness still there, but interwoven with something fierce and strong. “I've thought of something.”

Sherlock nodded at her to go on.

“I'm old enough soon to decide over my life for myself, and... and when I turn sixteen tomorrow, I want to live here, in the Moors. With you.”

Sherlock was gob-smacked for a few moments so that he was lost for words one of the few times in his life (and obviously, it always seemed to be members of this one family that had the ability to strike him speechless). “Oh,” he finally breathed. “That's... good.” He cringed inwardly at his stupid repetition, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of something better.

“Yes?” Molly searched his face enthusiastically. “You would be all right with that?”

A little more composed again, Sherlock nodded firmly. “Yes,” he declared. “I would like that.” And to be honest, it was his best chance to keep Molly away from spinning wheels without having to tell her of the curse for now. He cleared his throat. “In fact, why wait. You can live here with me right now.”

“Really?!” Her eyes gleamed with happiness.

“Of course,” Sherlock replied haughtily. “One day earlier or not, it doesn't make a difference. This age of consent issue is just a stupid tradition of humans anyway. But if you want to live with us in the Moors, you're not bound by such things any more.”

“Yes!” Molly crowed happily. “You're absolutely right.” She spun around herself once in enthusiasm, and before Sherlock could blink, she had her arms wrapped tightly around him. “I'll just tell my aunts and uncle! Oh wait, maybe I should practice what I tell them... hm. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?!”

And with that, she ran away as fast as her hindering skirts allowed her to.

 

When Sherlock returned to his home after aimlessly wandering the Moors for a while to think, John waited for him with a glare on his face, and his arms crossed before his chest. Sherlock immediately felt bad although he didn't really know why John was cross with him.

“When I woke up”, the human explained calmly – deceptively calmly, “You were gone.”

Sherlock grimaced. “I'm sorry, John. I wanted to get the conversation with Molly over and done with.”

John nodded grimly in understanding. “Yes, I understand, but don't do this again to me, do you hear me.” Suddenly, John stepped forward into Sherlock's personal space, and put his hand firmly in Sherlock's neck, drawing his face slightly down to his so that Sherlock didn't really have a choice but to look John in the eye. “Never do that to me again, Sherlock!” John seethed emphatically. “I was alone all these years. Please don't leave me alone again!” And with that, even before Sherlock could swear to him that he would never do so again, John kissed him forcefully with all the desperation that had been bottled up inside him for years even though he hadn't really known what had made him so desperate, what had lacked from his life until yesterday.

Sherlock kissed him back equally as forceful, and for long minutes, the two lovers stood in the middle of Sherlock's home, kissing each other desperately, and they would have gone further hadn't a pointed clearing of the throat made them part from each other.

Gregory sat on one of the branches, looking at them smugly, but he held back with further comments.

“You have no sense for timing,” Sherlock complained in a haughty huff to which Gregory only snickered at Sherlock's embarrassment. 

“By the way,” John chimed in to divert Sherlock's attention away from Gregory. “Have you told her?”

Sherlock evaded John's gaze in embarrassment, and pressed his lips together. “Not directly,” he had to admit.

“How can you tell her indirectly?” Gregory asked, and Sherlock threw him a nasty gaze.

“I wanted to tell her, but then she revealed that she wants to live here in the Moors with us, and she was so excited that...”

“That you thought it best to keep your mouth shut, you coward,” John finished sarcastically, albeit good-naturedly. 

“Just so.” Sherlock turned to Gregory once more. “What did you want anyway?!”

The raven shrugged. “Well, ehm, just wanted to tell you that I've seen Molly with a young man in the woods.”

“You what!?” Sherlock exclaimed in outrage, storming over to Gregory who showed tremendous courage by not backing away from the enraged fairy. “After all that happened yesterday!”

“Calm down again. They were only talking. And he seemed like a nice enough lad.”

“He is a man,” Sherlock spat. “That and nice exclude each other.”

“Hey!” John cried to which Sherlock only threw in a “You're the exception, of course”, without otherwise pausing in his rant.

“I kept an eye on them,” Gregory assured the fairy. “They just talked, and seemed really smitten with each other.”

“What's he like?” John asked before Sherlock could open his mouth again. After all, they were still talking about his niece, not only Sherlock's daughter.

“About as young as her I'd say,” Greg shrugged. “Fine clothes and horse. I think I heard himself call Tom.”

“What sort of name is that?!” Sherlock scoffed haughtily.

“Short for Thomas. Not all of us can have a pompous name like you do, my heart,” John chuckled to which Sherlock spluttered in indignant fury. 

“However,” Gregory continued. “I watched them for a while. Then, he said his goodbyes to her, and rode away. I think after that, she started practising again what to tell the three dumbasses.”

“Not much to practice there,” Sherlock grumbled. “They won't understand a word anyway.”

“Be nice,” John laughed, and caressed Sherlock's back.

“What I wouldn't give to see their faces when she tells them,” the fairy snickered, his mood suddenly improved again.

“No, you leave that to her,” John admonished. “She has to stand up to them herself.”

“Who said anything about intervening? I'm not my brother. I only want to watch!”

“No.”

“But...”

“No!” both John and Gregory stated forcefully.

Sherlock huffed, and jumped up onto one of the highest branches of his tree to sulk.

 

The next morning, Sherlock left for his meeting with Molly – but only after having kissed John goodbye, and only after having been forced to eat a whole meal John had put before him. Tedious.

He was nervous although he wouldn't even admit it to himself. He had a bad feeling about this since the stupidity of the three dunderheads knew no bounds. They surely blabbed, and now Molly would already know that she was – supposedly – the king's daughter. What if she didn't want to live with Sherlock any more? What if she rather wanted to return to her father? Oh, he should have told her that he was her father. But he had been too much of a coward because some day, he wouldn't come around telling her everything.

“Fairy Godfather.”

Sherlock flinched. Damn. Taken by surprise by an adolescent. This family really brought forth his most embarrassing sides.

“Molly, I'm glad you're here... What's the matter?” He looked at her with concern. The fire in her eyes was gone as was the happiness that always seemed to surround her like a bright light shining from within. 

She knows, Sherlock thought. She had to.

“I... I've told my guardians,” she stammered with a hiccup, suddenly sinking down onto the trunk of a fallen tree powerlessly.

Timidly, Sherlock sat down next to her. “And?” he encouraged gently.

She sniffled once, then she sat up straighter in determination. “They were mad. And then uncle Philip said something strange.”

That one, of course, Sherlock thought scornfully. He should have known.

“He became mad, and ranted that they hadn't endure sixteen years in this dumb hole of a cottage only for me to spoil their plans now.” She looked at him with heat in her eyes. “Then aunt Sally said that they would bring me back to my father tomorrow, and be rid of me.”

Sherlock kept quiet while he let her rave and rant, he would have to speak up early enough when the time for his own confession came.

“They told me that king John is my father!” Molly exclaimed, still quite disbelieving. “And... and...” Here, she heaved a great sob, and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to draw her into his arms, but he couldn't, not when he was the cause of her pain. “And that I am cursed,” she finally spit out. “An evil fairy cursed me when I was a baby to get back at my father.” She looked up at Sherlock. “Can you believe that, Fairy Godfather!”

Sherlock closed his eyes because he couldn't endure her frantic gaze any more, begging him for reassurance and help.

Her hitched breath made him open his eyes once more to stare into the distance. “You knew,” Molly breathed. “You knew that I am cursed.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Why didn't you tell me?!”

“It wouldn't have mattered. It only would have sullied your happy childhood.”

“Did you... did you try to help me?” she asked timidly.

“Yes, but nothing can break this curse.”

Molly breathed out slightly in relief that her friend still had tried everything to help her. “But... what about this dark fairy? What was his name? Something strange... Sherlock, I think. Can he lift the curse?”

Here it comes. Sherlock closed his eyes once more.

“No. He made sure that nothing and nobody could lift this curse except the one thing he had lost faith in.”

“And what's that?” Molly asked hopefully.

“True Love's Kiss. But don't worry,” Sherlock assured her. “I know there is someone who can break this curse that way. Everybody who meets you loves you after all.”

“They said it will come true tonight, on my sixteenth birthday,” Molly whispered dejectedly. “Not much time for my True Love to find me.”

“We'll find a way, I promise!”

Molly nodded sadly, and suddenly, she frowned. “Why would Sherlock do something like that to a baby? What horrible deed did my father put on him?”

“Betrayal,” Sherlock immediately answered bitterly.

Molly drew in a sharp breath at hearing Sherlock's tone of voice. “Fairy Godfather?” she asked insecurely.

“I'm not your Fairy Godfather, Molly,” Sherlock spat back, then he finally looked at her, and he smiled regretfully. “Have you never wondered why I never told you my name?”

Molly forced the breath she'd been holding out of her mouth shakily. “You are Sherlock,” she whispered brokenly.

Sherlock hung his head in shame. “I am.”

Molly was quiet for a long time in which Sherlock didn't dare to look at her, the oppressive silence threatening to suffocate him.

“In which way did my father betray you?” she finally asked, her voice sounding like ice.

Sherlock shivered. He wanted to scream at her that this abominable creature residing in the palace wasn't her father but him, Sherlock. But he wanted to spare her the shame. “He deceived me, and cut off my wings.”

Molly gasped, but then she composed herself in a heart-beat. “I understand,” she stated, her voice still as emotionless as Sherlock had felt over these long sixteen years. “That's a good enough reason to hate somebody, but I still won't forgive you.”

And with that, she jumped up from the trunk, and stormed away.

Sherlock was left there sitting alone. He was shell-shocked. It had all happened so fast, he didn't even get the chance to tell Molly that John wasn't her father, not even that the king wasn't even John but his sister, Molly's mother.

Moaning desperately, he buried his face in his hands. What a mess. He'd gone at it all wrong. John would have handled this situation much better. And to top it off, the three dunderheads had to go and blabb before he came over his cowardice and told her.

Crushed by grieve and hopelessness, Sherlock was unable to follow her. Instead, he just sat there numbly, and stared into the distance...

 

“Here you are!”

John's relieved voice took him by surprise, and Sherlock flinched. He didn't look at John when the man sat down next to him, and scrutinised him intently.

“You've screwed up, haven't you?” John eventually asked with compassion.

Sherlock nodded dejectedly.

“Oh love.” Immediately, John put his arm around Sherlock consolingly, and pulled him against his side.

“We'll get through this. You'll see. And don't be too hard on yourself. Maybe you failing in this is just the curse's way of making sure that it comes true.”

Sherlock started up. “The curse!” he cried. “We have to follow her!” He jumped up in agitation, and once more bemoaned the loss of his wings. With them, he would have surpassed Molly in no time at all before she reached the palace – and that had to be her destination, there was no place for her here any more. “Where is this boy?!” he demanded while storming from the clearing in the direction of the borders, John hot on his heels.

“You think he is the one to break the curse?” John called after him.

“He's our best chance at the moment.”

“He's at the clearing he met her in,” Gregory informed them when he suddenly joined up with them. “I don't know why, but yesterday, he left for the palace, now he's back.”

“Adolescents,” Sherlock grumbled exasperatedly. “Could have stayed here from the start.”

“Right, good,” John declared while thinking furiously. “Then let's talk to the boy.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Oh please. This will take too much time. We'll just take him with us.”

John opened his mouth, but he decided that it simply wasn't worth the headache he would get with enquiring.

Sherlock looked grimly ahead. “I can't ask you to come with me. It will get dangerous, Harriet surely will be waiting for me.”

“All the more reason to come with you!” John cried hotly. “As if I'd let you go alone. And maybe, I can get her to see reason.” He didn't believe it himself, but it was worth a try.

Sherlock locked gazes with John, and smiled at him lovingly. “My John. Ever the soldier throwing himself bravely in the front line.”

John cleared his throat. “For you, always.”

Gregory made soft scoffing noises while he watched the two lovebirds being lost in their own world. Then a thought came to him.  “What if something happens to you?” he cried. “Will I be stuck in this form forever?”

Sherlock finally turned away from John and to his friend to chuckle at him. “No worries. I don't plan to plunge myself from the next cliff.”

The raven harrumphed at him, but didn't press on. Sherlock would not die, not because of someone like Harriet. The thought was ridiculous. So Gregory could stop his whingeing.

“All right,” he finally cried in exasperation when his companion didn't say anything, but Sherlock could sense his glare like something physical. Irritated, he waved his hand, enveloping Gregory in a golden mist for a moment. “There,” he pouted, “I've given you the ability to change at your will.”

“Couldn't you have thought of that sixteen years ago,” Gregory grumbled, but he seemed delighted when he turned from human to raven and back at his own leisure. 

“I can turn you into a wolf permanently if you'd prefer,” he needled. “You so enjoyed it the last time.”

Gregory actually growled at him despite his distaste of canines.

“Boys, stop it,” John intermitted, glaring sternly at the two squabblers. “We really have other things to worry about.”

That humbled them somewhat, and they both averted their gazes like scolded children.

“Let's go.”

Meekly, they followed John to look for the boy, in the hope that he really was the one to save Molly.

“Ah, by the way,” Sherlock said off-handedly, and looked at Gregory. “We need a horse.”

“What!?”

 

Gregory had never ran so fast in his live, the boy's horse hot on his hooves (well, he never had to  _run_ before meeting Sherlock at all; disgusting mammals and their graceless legs!).

But no matter how fast he actually was, the sun went down mercilessly before they could reach the palace. He felt a violent shudder run through Sherlock when the fairy felt the curse becoming true.

“Come on,” John cried over the wind whipping around their faces. “We have to go on!”

He was right. They had to do everything in their power to save Molly, and stop Harriet. Thus encouraged, Gregory stretched his legs even more until he was almost flying over the dusty path up to the castle.

“Last chance to go back,” Sherlock pointed out when the three of them finally stood before the castle's gates. 

“No way,” John said immediately, and Gregory made an acquiescent noise.

“It's probably a trap. It looks completely deserted, and nobody has come for us which is highly suspicious, so of course we won't let you go in there alone.”

Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thank you,” he mumbled softly without turning his gaze from the dark castle looming before them.

 

Without meeting a living soul, they actually managed to slip into the castle. Of course it was a trap, it couldn't be more obvious, Sherlock thought in disgust, but he didn't have a choice. The only thing of importance here was saving Molly. Creeping through the dark, deserted corridors, he reached out with all his senses as well as his magic to detect any enemies lurking near, but they were alone. For now. The reason became apparent when they turned a corner, and found themselves in a long, wide corridor. But their path was blocked by a huge metal construction that resembled a thorn hedge, similar to the one Sherlock had grown around the Moors.

Concernedly, John looked at Sherlock who wasn't inclined in the slightest to be stopped by a little iron.

“Maybe we should find another way,” Gregory suggested, but John shook his head. 

“There isn't another way. This is the main corridor.”

“And of course, Harriet knows that we therefore have to come through here,” Sherlock added. “No, we've no choice.”

“Just... be careful,” Gregory admonished.

Sherlock snorted. “I'm always careful.” And with that, the fairy started to make his way through the thorns.

John and Gregory looked at each other drily, and rolling their eyes in fond exasperation before they finally followed Sherlock.

A dull thump halfway through the corridor made them spin around, causing Sherlock, in a moment of inattentiveness, to touch the iron. He hissed in pain, but the pain was forgotten immediately when he saw what had happened. “Oops,” he chuckled drily.

“Careful, we still need him,” John chided, and grabbed the boy's cape to steer his floating figure more securely through the iron thicket without hitting his head again on something again.

“We don't need his brain, just his lips,” Sherlock grumbled while being more careful to climb through their obstacle.

Finally, after what seemed like eternity, they reached the other end.

“What did she think this would do to me,” Sherlock scoffed. “I don't drop dead when touching iron. As if that could stop me.”

John made a non-committal noise about what he thought of his sister's defensive measures, and what that told them about the state of her mind.

“And now? Where do you think they brought her?” Gregory looked from one to the other questioningly.

“This way,” Sherlock answered immediately. “I can feel her presence, even if it is very weak at the moment.”

Without a word, they followed the fairy through the palace until they came into a more warmly lit corridor. Two guards were positioned before a heave door, the first they had seen so far.

“She's in there,” Sherlock whispered while they hid behind a heavy tapestry. 

“How do we get past the guards?” John whispered, and looked up to Sherlock who regarded him pitifully.

“Harriet won't know that you've returned, so, she isn't prepared to go against you, only me,” Sherlock finally deigned to explain. “We can take advantage of that fact.”

“You mean...”

“Yes, you can impersonate the king, well, yourself actually, and get the guards off our backs.”

John nodded. “Yeah, that could really work.”

“Of course it can work,” Sherlock sniffed haughtily. “It was my idea after all.”

John snickered at his lover, but didn't call him out on it. Then he peeked around the heavy fabric once more. “All right. I'll tell them to go guard something else or so.”

John just wanted to step from behind the tapestry, when Sherlock's low voice held him back.

“John, wait.”

Questioningly, John turned back to Sherlock. The fairy waved his hand, and a golden mist surrounded John. When it had disappeared, John stood there wearing fine clothes fit for a king instead of the simple clothes he'd worn until then.

He looked down his front, and then smiled sheepishly at Sherlock. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

“And act a little mad, will you,” Sherlock advised.

John nodded, and stepped into full view of the guards. The two men startled when they noticed movement out of the corner of their eye, but they relaxed again when they recognised the king. Well, and then they froze in sheer terror.

“Your Majesty,” one of the men said. “E-everything is in order, Sire. Nobody has stepped foot into this corridor.”

“That's good,” John muttered darkly. “You can go now.”

The two guards blinked at him. “Your Majesty? We thought...”

“Didn't you hear what I said!” he shouted, and the guards flinched in fear.

“Yes, Sire,” they mumbled, and turned tail.

When they were out of sight, John's shoulders slumped in relief, and he turned to his hidden friends, grinning brightly.

“Well done, John,” Sherlock drawled generously, though no one could really miss the haughty sarcasm in his voice. “You'd be a formidable actor.”

John good-naturedly punched Sherlock's arm. “You...”

“Someone's coming!” Gregory hissed suddenly, his sensitive raven ears detecting faint noises and shrill voices coming nearer and nearer.

Hastily, Sherlock snapped his fingers, and with a loud thump, the young man in their wake crashed to the floor painfully.

Gregory and John grimaced in compassion.

Groaning, the young man came to, and he sat up groggily. “Where am I?” he asked, his voice slurring slightly.

“You're in the k... my castle, young man,” John explained, trying to sound stern and kind at the same time, flicking a quick look at Sherlock and Gregory who'd dashed away to hide behind the curtain once more.

The young man's eyes widened. “Oh, king John!” He sprang up, swaying slightly on his feet for a moment. “I... I wanted to come here on behalf of my father, king Hubert. I'm prince Thomas, at your service.” He bowed deeply before John, then he looked around in confusion. “I... pardon me, Sire, but I'm really quite confused. I don't remember how I got to be here.”

John drew in a deep breath while thinking furiously. “Well... I'm not sure myself,” John stammered, and met Sherlock's gaze over Thomas' shoulder. The fairy rolled his eyes, so John wasn't probably as in character as he should have been. He cleared his throat, and drew himself up to his full if inconsiderable height while trying to look menacing and imperious. “My men picked you up before the gates, almost unconscious, clinging to your horse.”

The prince shook his head in confusion. “I really can't remember.”

“Maybe...” But before John could explain himself to the young man, three lively, colourful creatures flitted around the corner. John frowned at them. That had to be Molly's foster parents, the three fairies Sherlock despised with all his might. Granted, the male looked like an obnoxious brat, and the dark-skinned female fairy seemed to have etched a permanent scowl onto her features, but the third one looked actually rather capable and pretty with her blond hair. 

The three stopped short in mid-flight when they spotted John. Here it comes, he thought. Who knew when and where they'd seen the king last. Maybe they'd just spoken to him, and now would blow John's cover.

“Your Majesty!” the male cried. 

“We're doing everything in our power to find a cure for your daughter!” the blonde assured. 

“Yes,” the other female agreed. “We're just looking for someone who can give her True Love's Kiss. Preferably a...” She stopped short, and blinked, noticing Thomas for the first time. 

“Ehm, yeah, this is prince Thomas,” John introduced the hapless prince who looked as if he really couldn't keep up with proceedings any more.

“Prince,” the fairy mumbled. “A prince! Yes! That's perfect.” 

They hastily bridged the distance to the two humans. “If you allow, Your Majesty.”

And with that, they pushed and dragged Thomas through the door to Molly's chambers.

“Yeah, go on,” John said into the empty corridor. 

“John,” Sherlock hissed from their hiding place.

“What!” John glared exasperatedly at Sherlock. “If they want to take matters in their hands, let them.” 

Ignoring Sherlock, John followed the fairies into the luxurious bedchamber. He kept his distance, and he ignored the conversation going on between the prince and the fairies. He had only eyes for the peacefully sleeping girl in the bed. He still couldn't believe that she should be his niece and Sherlock's daughter. And instead on dwelling on the horrible circumstances of her conception, he focused on the joy and pride he felt. And suddenly, he knew that everything would be all right. He didn't know how, but he suddenly had a vision, as clear and bright as if it was happening right before him for real. He saw Sherlock and Molly together living in the Moors happily ever after. And John was with them. They would be a real family. There was nothing more on this Earth that he wished more.

One of the fairies' outraged cries brought him out of this lovely vision. “You have to try harder! That wasn't a kiss!” They almost forced the poor boy's head down again near Molly's face. But even the second kiss didn't prompt any reaction from the sleeping girl.

Swearing at the top of their lungs, the fairies wrenched Thomas away to haul him from the room.

“Don't worry, Your Majesty,” the male cried before they disappeared around the corner, “we'll find another one!”

John made a non-committal noise, again being left behind by those three obnoxious creatures.

“It didn't work?!” Gregory exclaimed troubled when he and Sherlock slipped into the room. John shook his head. 

“But I thought...” Sherlock cut himself off, and John's heart went out to him. He looked so lost and sad standing there before Molly's bed, looking down on her.

“I'm so sorry, Sherlock,” he whispered, and gently touched Sherlock's arm. “We'll find a way, I'm sure.”

But Sherlock didn't heed him. Instead, he bridged the distance towards the bed, and, as if all the power had been drained from his body, sank down onto the corner of the mattress. With a shaking hand, he touched Molly's cheek.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered in a choked voice, finally allowing the tears to fall. Drawing in a shaky breath, Sherlock bend down, and gently kissed her onto the forehead.

He sat there for a long time, at least it felt like a small eternity, his lover and his friend standing with him silently in vigil.

Suddenly, a soft gasp made all of them look up in shock. Molly's eyes were open, and they were fastened onto Sherlock, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

“What...” Sherlock cried, and instinctively wanted to jump up. Instead, he flung himself forward to grasp Molly's shoulders, almost shaking her. “I... I don't understand...” Helplessly, he looked to John and Gregory who had big smiles on their faces and tears of joy in their eyes.

“True Love's Kiss, Sherlock,” John explained gently. 

“But...” He looked back to Molly. “How could someone like me...”

“You have that ability, Sherlock,” John said firmly, so that the fairy instantly looked back to his mate. “You have so much love to give. You just never believed in yourself.” 

Sherlock swallowed at hearing this, and he suddenly felt humble hearing John above all people say such things about him. Normally, he wouldn't believe John, but slowly, he started to. He had to. Otherwise, he'd have never been able to break that curse. He gave a small nod, and turned to Molly who still looked at him with so much love lighting up her smiling face that Sherlock wanted to hide from it.

“Not to disturb the moment, but we really should go.”

At hearing the familiar voice, Molly took notice of the other two people in the room for the first time. An even bigger grin split her face when she spotted Gregory. “You're here, too, my pretty bird!”

“For you, always, Princess.”

Then she looked to John, and frowned suddenly. “But...” She looked at Sherlock for confirmation. “You look like my father, the king. But you're not, are you? You're the man that saved me.”

“Yes, I am,” John replied calmly, and tried to smile at her reassuringly. But it was so hard not to appear nervous with the elephant still lurking in the room, having just made itself be noticed.

“How could you not have noticed that the king and the man who saved you look the same?!” Sherlock suddenly cried in astonishment.

Molly smiled a little sheepishly at him. “I really didn't notice. I was probably much too upset.”

“You humans,” Sherlock groaned. “You see, but you don't observe. I thought at least you woul-”

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock stopped, and looked at John, chastened, now feeling a little sheepish himself. “Ah, yes, Molly.” He awkwardly cleared his throat. “I... I have to tell you something.”

He startled, and looked her in the eye in wonderment when she suddenly gently took his hand in her smaller one. “Nothing you can tell me will ever part me again from you,” she smiled at him. “You were the one to break the curse, so you showed me that you really love me. You don't know how much that means to me.”

“I've always loved you!” Sherlock reassured her hastily, then frowned. “Well, not always, but...”

“I think we get the gist of it, love,” John helped him out with a chuckle. 

“Ehm, yes...” He looked her firmly in the eye once more. “Molly, not all is as it seems here. The man who claims to be king John isn't the real John.” He drew John up to him. “This is the real John. The despicable person sitting on the throne is...” Sherlock faltered, and at least for this confession, John took over for him. “It's my sister, Harriet. She impersonated me to become king, and send me away to war instead, and robbed me of all my memories with a curse.”

Molly gasped. “But how?”

“The details aren't important at the moment,” John replied, “but you have to know... Harriet is your mother.”

Molly blinked in surprise. “Oh,” she made, then she eventually said carefully, “That's... I mean. It doesn't matter if I have a father or a mother. I'm just happy to know that I'm not alone in the world.”

Sherlock and John cringed, and looked at each other, grimacing painfully.

“There's more,” John said carefully. 

“Molly, didn't you ever wonder about the scars on your back?”

Her hand automatically went up to her shoulder at Sherlock's question. “Sometimes,” she admitted confused. “But they're so faint, most of the time I don't even think about them.”

“But do you remember what I told you?” Sherlock urged. “That the king, well, until a few days ago I really thought it had been John who'd betrayed me...” At that, John took Sherlock's hand in his, and squeezed gently to comfort him. “That Harriet,” Sherlock continued, “cut off my wings.”

Molly nodded.

“As John said, she did this to become king, neither caring about the pain she put me through nor her own brother... And, the only trace of my wings I have left on my back are scars.” John squeezed Sherlock's hand once more. 

Molly nodded, and Sherlock clearly saw that she desperately tried to make the connection even if her mind obviously tried to resist the truth.

“Oh for... John, I can't do it all diplomatically,” Sherlock cried impatiently. “Molly, you're my daughter.”

The following silence was so thick, it could have been cut through with a knife.

“Way to go, Sherlock,” John muttered while they carefully watched Molly's shell-shocked expression. “Very sympathetic.”

Sherlock threw him a nasty gaze, but turned his whole attention on Molly again when she made a small noise.

“You...” she stammered, and her wild gaze flew from Sherlock to John to Gregory and back.

“Yes,” he ground out through gritted teeth, and averted his eyes, fearful that this would let her turn away from him in in disgust. This time for good despite her earlier words.

Therefore, Sherlock grunted in surprise, when a solid weight suddenly connected with him, squeezing the breath from his lungs, so tightly wrapped slender arms around him all of a sudden.

Tentatively, he looked down, but there she really was, his daughter, hugging him with all she had.

“Molly?” he asked, and he hated the tremble in his voice.

“You're so stupid,” she declared, her voice muffled by his robes. “I love you.”

Sherlock frowned in confusion. “That doesn't even make sense.”

Helplessly, he looked up to John who'd come to stand beside him. His lover smiled down at him, and his blue eyes twinkled gently at Sherlock's confusion. “Shows she's really her father's daughter. You don't make sense most of the time as well, love.”

Sherlock scrunched up his nose at the gentle teasing, and only let himself be appeased by the loving kiss John pressed onto his nose.

For a few further moments, he enjoyed the embrace reluctantly, but then they had to think of more important measures.

“We really have to get out of here,” Gregory urged anew as he seemed to think the same. “I'm astounded that we haven't been spotted yet.”

“Well, with my formidable acting skills, there was nothing for these fairies to be suspicious about,” John boasted good-naturedly.

Sherlock snorted derisively. “Fortunately, those three are so phenomenally stupid. Otherwise, nobody would have fallen for your act, John.”

John scoffed at that. “What was that? I only can remember a 'you'd be a formidable actor' from you not so long ago.”

Sherlock looked at him pitifully, once again missing the sarcasm in John's words, even if he himself was pretty adept at using it.

But without a further word, he followed the others cautiously from the room. They encountered nobody in the corridors which was even more reason to worry. Thus undetected, they reached the throne room.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” John whispered. “Let's take another way.”

“There is no other way,” Sherlock whispered back. He looked back at the others, his family, he realised with a start. “Go. I'll give you cover.”

“Sherlock,” John started to protest, but Sherlock cut him off determinedly.

“No. No matter what, you'll get out of here. Protect Molly. It's me Harriet wants anyway.”

“I don't care.” John glared fiercely at him. “Gregory will take her to safety. I won't leave you. Not again.”

Sherlock looked John deeply in the eye, and saw the determination there. Finally, he sighed sadly. “All right. But stay by my side.”

John snorted sarcastically. “I'm a soldier, Sherlock, I can take care of myself.”

Sherlock nodded curtly, and crept around the corner down into the throne room.

“By the way,” John mumbled, “I planned to stay by your side anyway, so shut up.”

A small smile twitched around the corners of Sherlock's mouth, but he didn't turn around again.

They'd barely crossed half of the spacious room when suddenly, torches all around the room were lit, and numerous soldiers appeared around them. 

Alarmed, Sherlock looked back to Molly. “Molly, get out of here!”

Instead of arguing, she nodded hastily, and hurried away from the soldiers who weren't interested in her anyway. They started encircling Sherlock and John.

“John,” Sherlock tried one last time, but John's “shut up” made him snap his mouth shut.

And in that moment, a heavily armed figure clad in an iron armour stepped into the midst of the throne room.

John swallowed heavily when he saw himself confronted with himself. He almost couldn't believe what he was seeing although he knew perfectly well that this was his sister in disguise. 

Harriet's eyes flashed in dangerous irritation when she spotted John, but then all of her attention focused on Sherlock once more.

“At last,” she said with a grim smile.

“Yes, at last,” Sherlock confirmed. He took a deep breath, and had to tell himself that this wasn't the real John, that the real John stood here beside him, fighting with him, not against him. But it was hard. The illusion was so perfect.

“Harriet, please stop this madness,” John pleaded, stepping between Sherlock and his sister. 

“I don't know who you are talking about, worm,” she sneered at him.

“Your disguise is good, I have to admit that,” Sherlock said, and locked eyes with the silent figure lurking around in the background. His gaze hardened. “You even fooled me, witch, but this will stop now.” He raised his hands, and a ball of swirling golden light appeared in his hands. All of a sudden, he hurled the concentrated magic towards Harriet before Irene had time to react. The light engulfed her. She let out a high-pitched scream, then her body seemed to ripple, and John's stolen features suddenly melted away from her, leaving behind a panting blond woman whose eyes hadn't lost any of their mad gleam though.

Shocked, she looked down herself, and hectically felt her face. She threw Sherlock a hateful gaze. “You will pay for this, demon!” she screeched. “Guards!”

But the assembled soldiers suddenly looked uncertain. They threw each other confused, but also furious looks as they realised that they had been played all these years.

“Look at you,” Sherlock taunted. “You're already losing their loyalty.”

“I'm still king,” she spat, and glared at her men, “no matter if I'm a woman or not.”

“It's not about you being a woman,” Sherlock sneered haughtily. “It's all about trust. And you've betrayed everybody's trust time and time again. Nobody would want to follow such a king.”

“I don't care about trust!” she screamed. “The only important thing is power, and it's mine.”

“You're a nobody, Harriet,” Sherlock taunted. “A power-hungry, ruthless little nobody whose path to power is scattered with blood and bodies. You not only betrayed your people, but your brother, your wife, and your daughter as well with that cunning witch's help.”

“I earned the crown,” Harriet spat. “The old king promised the crown to the one who vanquished the demon. And I did.”

“But to which prize!” John cried desperately in a last attempt to get through to her through her madness. 

“I don't care!” she screeched. “I have Clara, and I have the crown, nothing else matters.”

“Then how did you do it by the way?” Sherlock asked snidely. “Which spell let you weave her to deceive everyone, including the queen?”

Harriet shrugged haughtily. “I don't know. It was all Irene's doing. The glamour she'd made for me to look like John hid my pregnant state as well. Then, she wove a spell that made everyone believe that Clara was pregnant, and when the child was born, she thought that  _she_ 'd born the baby. ”

“And her wings?” Sherlock spat.

Harriet shrugged without remorse. “I hired the best surgeon I could find, and he removed the hideous things. Afterwards, Irene erased his memories.”

John put his hand on Sherlock's arm, feeling his lover's whole body tremble in barely suppressed rage.

“Harriet,” John began, but he didn't go on. He didn't know what to say any more.

“Do you really think the queen will stay by your side once she realises what you've done?” Sherlock asked her, and this thought alone managed to make her blanch in terror. But only for a moment, then she'd composed herself. 

“She will.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of that.” And with that, Sherlock's gaze focused on something behind Harriet.

She froze, and only with the utmost effort did she bring herself to turn around. She met queen Clara's hardened gaze.

“Clara, I,” Harriet stammered in a desperate attempt to explain herself, but the queen held up her hand to silence her.

“I don't want to hear even one word from your mendacious mouth.” The queen trembled with rage. “Come morning, I want you gone from this castle. You are banned from these lands for all times.”

“But...”

“Silence!”

Harriet flinched, her madness pushed into the farthest corner of her mind for the first time in years for the sake of trying to not lose the woman she loved.

“Even if it may surprise you... I wouldn't have minded that you are a woman. But I can never forgive that you deceived me for all those years. I could never trust you again.”

“See, told you so,” Sherlock mumbled smugly, but John jabbed him in the ribs with a hissed “Sherlock!”

Pouting, Sherlock kept silent.

The queen turned away from Harriet, and her hard gaze bore into Irene all of a sudden. She scrunched up her nose in disgust. “And take this witch to the borders as well. She's not welcome here.”

The guards nodded hurriedly, seemingly relieved to be released from their oath to their mad king by the queen herself. Swiftly, they circled Irene, and led her away.

With a last look back to Harriet, the queen turned on her heel, and marched away, all of the soldiers following her dutifully together with a safely guarded Irene.

Harriet remained, and stared after her wife, completely helpless. She wanted to call out to Clara again, but no words would come. She trembled over her whole body in desperation and in suddenly reawakening rage. She spun around, and fixated Sherlock with a hateful gaze. “You've taken everything from me!” she screeched.

“No,” Sherlock replied calmly. “You have done this to yourself.”

With an ear-splitting scream, Clara pulled something from her back, and hurled it at Sherlock faster than anybody could react.

The fairy tried to evade it, but in the blink of an eye, the contraption had buried him. He cried out in pain when the finely woven net of thin iron wires touched his skin. It was a delicate work, and shouldn't have hurt this much, but Sherlock clearly felt the magic interwoven within, making the effects a thousand times stronger.

He heard John call out his name frantically, but he couldn't answer him. His sight blurred, and there was a horrible, deafening ringing in his ears like countless iron bells being rung in his head.

Desperately trying to free himself, burning his hands even further while tearing at the net, Sherlock looked up. John stood between him and Harriet, Prince Thomas' sword in his hand that they had taken possession of before coming here since John didn't have had any weapon to protect himself with or his loved ones. He said something to his sister, but Sherlock couldn't understand a word through the pain.

Then, they started to fight while Sherlock could only watch helplessly.

“Come on,” he suddenly heard Gregory's blurry voice as if from far away, and his friend tugged at the surprisingly heavy net. 

Harriet landed a sudden, unexpected blow with her sword, and John stumbled back if he didn't want to be pierced by her sword. Before he could catch himself, she'd pushed him aside, and advanced on Sherlock once more who still desperately tried to free himself from under the heavy iron net with Gregory's help. She raised her sword high over her head, but just as she wanted to bring it down on Sherlock, a bright light suddenly flashed right before their eyes, engulfing Sherlock completely. Harriet stumbled back with a cry, letting go of her sword to cover her eyes with both hands, and Gregory scrambled back as well, shielding his eyes from the bright, golden light.

When it faded again, Sherlock stood before them proudly, the net encasing him seemed to have melted away under his bursting magic. And from Sherlock's back, two huge, beautiful black wings protruded, the glossy feathers quivering with every excited breath the fairy took.

Harriet gaped in shock while John and Gregory looked astonished at the fairy, but both of them with huge grins on their faces.

Sherlock himself was a little dazed for a few seconds, so overwhelming was the feeling of being whole again. He flexed his muscles, unused for so long, but they obeyed him, spreading out his wings behind him with a dramatic flourish. He looked up to the gallery of the throne room where Molly had reappeared, an equally huge grin brightening up her face. Sherlock inclined his head in thanks, then he turned to Harriet once more.

“It was a mistake to keep my wings,” he told her.

“They couldn't be destroyed! The girl's could be burned, but yours...” Harriet shuddered in disgust as she recalled the compelling feeling that had taken a grip of everybody who'd wanted to destroy the wings, filling their hearts with an unexpected fear and reluctance to even touch the wings. 

Sherlock frowned angrily when Harriet so readily admitted to destroying Molly's wings. “Be that as it may,” he said, “you've dug your own grave with your actions. It's over, Harriet, accept it.”

“Never!” she spat.

“Suit yourself,” Sherlock drawled, and turned to his friends since for him, this battle was over once and for all. “Let's go. Let the queen's soldiers deal with her.”

“Sherlock!” Molly screamed suddenly, and Sherlock spun around again. In the last second, he could brace himself against the knife Harriet tried to plunge into him, the same dagger she'd cut off his wings with all those years ago. They stumbled back under the force of her impact against him, Sherlock felt his back collide with something, then the surface gave away at the same time as a deafening crash surrounded him as the glass of the huge window at the head of the throne room shattered into a thousand pieces. 

For one second, he fell freely, plunging into the abyss. But then, he instinctively spread his wings, and caught himself in mid-fall. A dull thump made him look down. Harriet lay down in the castle's courtyard, dead. A spark of remorse went through him for John's sake and even for Molly's. But then it was gone again. He had promised John not to actively kill Harriet, but this was of her own making, so he felt not at fault for her death at all.

Turning around in the air, he floated back into the throne room. His feet barely touched the ground yet when John flung himself into his arms.

“Thank God you're all right,” he breathed against Sherlock's neck. “I thought...”

“Never,” Sherlock promised while bringing his own arms around John tightly. 

A warm weight collided with them as Molly came hurrying down, and threw herself into the embrace.

“Father,” she whispered into Sherlock's shoulder, and the fairy cringed at hearing that although somehow he was proud to be called thus.

He raised his arm to include her in the embrace, and when he looked up, he met Gregory's gaze over Molly's shoulder. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but gave a jerk with his head. Grinning, Gregory hurried over to encompass them all in his arms in a seldom display of affection.

 

“Why didn't you want to stay and become king?” Sherlock asked, not daring to look at John while they strolled through the Moors to wait for the festivities to begin.

He felt John's incredulous gaze resting on him. “Are you serious?!” his mate eventually blurted out. “I've got no interest in living with the humans, and especially not being their king. They have a queen already who will make a fine ruler on her own.” With a suddenly worried frown, John stopped, and looked up to Sherlock. He took his hand in his. “How in all Heavens can you think I would leave you ever again?!”

Sherlock shrugged helplessly, and wouldn't meet his eyes. John had to gently raise his chin to establish eye contact. “I don't know,” he whispered.

“Yeah, that's because you're an idiot,” John stated sarcastically.

Sherlock spluttered in indignation.

John's expression turned into a gentle smile. “But you're my idiot.” To state his point, he leaned up, and kissed Sherlock softly.

The fairy allowed it with a condescending pout, but none of them missed the way he leaned into John.

They eventually parted again because an over-excited Molly bounded over to them. “It's all so exciting!” she chirped happily while she still couldn't tear her gaze away from all the colourful decorations, lights, or guests that had all gathered here today in the heart of the Moors to celebrate the victory over Harriet's evil deeds, making peace with the humans for good, king Mycroft's return as well as a wedding. Well, two actually, one Sherlock was completely all right with since it was his own, the other... not so much. “You'll like Thomas eventually,” John had said to him over and over. “He's a good boy.” Sherlock had snorted at that every time. Good, yes, but he was sooo dumb.

“Oww,” he cried when John slapped him suddenly on the arm. He glared down at him.

“Stop it,” John admonished. “I know what you're thinking about.”

Sherlock sniffed haughtily. “I don't think so.”

This only earned him an amused chuckle from John and a fond if clueless smile from Molly.

“Look at this,” he suddenly exclaimed, directing his indignation to another source. “Why didn't they get it over and done with today as well.”

“Hm?” Puzzled, John looked in the direction Sherlock glared in. Then, he chuckled. “I think they're sweet.”

Sherlock harrumphed, and crinkled his nose in disgust while watching his brother together with Gregory.

It suddenly dawned on him where Gregory had disappeared to sometimes over the years, obviously becoming very intimately acquainted with Mycroft judging by the disgusting display of cooing taking place just before everybody's eyes. He wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or... well, just annoyed that Gregory had started out to look for Mycroft unauthorised (for whatever reason), and began to report to his brother behind his back. He pouted furiously, and continued glaring darkly at his brother and his friend.

“Don't sulk,” John suddenly said beside Sherlock, making him flinch involuntarily. 

“I'm not sulking,” Sherlock answered with a haughty sniff.

John chuckled. “Of course not.”

And with that, he leaned up to kiss the not-pout from Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock drew in a deep, shaky breath when John parted from him, dazed for a few moments. “But I...” he started again, so John had to kiss him again. This time a little longer.

So long in fact, that they almost missed the start of their own wedding.

**End**

 

**Author's Note:**

> And here a bit of fanart from me:  
> https://celedansuniverse.deviantart.com/art/Sherlock-The-Dark-Fairy-698005191


End file.
